Snapshots
by BlackInkStains
Summary: Pictures of a life that could haven been, tainted still by the shadows.


**A/N: **Hi, hello, darlings, how are you, it's been a while I know. Life happens.

Anyway, since the latest arc is picking up in pace again I felt motivated to write a bit of fanfiction. This is more of a writing exercise, though it does have something resembling a plot. This is mostly me finding my way back into Kuro. It turned out differently from what I first planned 'Snapshots' to be, but this is also fine. Unbeta'd. No other warnings. I might come back later in the future and tweak around, but right now I'm just going to put it out there.

Hope you enjoy!

**Snapshots**

_Click -_

_There is a boy in the doorway, small and light with eyes the colour of the sea. The sun shines behind him, drowning his front in soft shadows as he places one foot on the floor of the small shop. He is wearing a children's suit, looking like a miniature business man. A soft frown is written onto his features._

What the picture can't show is the sound of a bell chiming prettily. It causes a loud thud and a yelp from somewhere at the back of the room, followed by many lighter thuds. The boy freezes in the doorway, raising his eyebrows, and then he notices the young man crouching right there on the floor with a Polaroid in his hands. He takes the picture as the boy stares on, waving it through the air and ignoring the boy for all he's worth. He has awful circles under his eyes, as if he hadn't slept in weeks. The heavy eyeliner doesn't help, either. The boy wants to ask a question – _don't I know you?_ -, but the young man looks at him over his shoulder, eyebrow raised, and as he is waiting for the question, the right moment to say the words fades.

"Yes, hello!" somebody calls from the back of the room, an odd voice with a thick accent. There are many thuds again, a groan, and mere seconds later a man appears from between the bookshelves, brushing dust off his black clothes. They are too large for him, two sizes at least. When the man looks up he starts. He brushes the too-long fringe out of his eyes as if to take a closer look at the new customer, before he breaks out into a wild grin. "Kids look silly in business suits. A shame you never grew any taller, dear Ciel."

The boy purses his lips, fully entering the shop now. "Undertaker… Never thought I'd see you again," he finally says. "Imagine my surprise when people started mentioning 'The Trickster's Bookshop' and its unique owner."

"You know him?" the young man drawls. Who he's talking to remains unknown, because he's looking at neither of the two. He gets up and shows the picture to Ciel. He can see himself frowning with the sun behind him. Then the young man gives the picture to Undertaker who looks at it and chuckles.

"We're, uh, old acquaintances," the reaper says with a wink in Ciel's direction. "Let me introduce you: Ciel, this is Gregory; Gregory, this is Ciel." He barely waits for Gregory and Ciel to acknowledge each other before moving on: "Now that that's out of the way, you must tell me how you're still alive."

Gregory shows surprise by blinking slowly. Ciel marvels at his low capacity of expressing emotions. "Does he know…?"

"He knows enough, I think," Undertaker says after a moment's contemplation. "Hey, where did the eye patch go?"

"I took it off and burned it," Ciel says. Both of his eyes are of the same colour. He doesn't mention that one of them is blind.

Undertaker frowns. He clearly wants to ask the obvious question, but they both know Ciel might not answer. In the end, the hard line of his mouth softens into his usual grin. "Why don't you come up for some tea."

Ciel snorts. "Some things never change. I certainly hope I do not have to make you laugh."

"Ah," Undertaker says with a chuckle as he opens a door partially hidden by bookshelves, "you might."

Gregory puts up the closed sign – at eleven a.m. – and follows them. They climb a flight of stairs and reach a small but very comfortable-looking flat. Rays of sunlight filter through coloured and transparent curtains, bathing the living-room in the palette of a sunset. Ciel watches the two pale men dressed in black sink into the ridiculously lush and colourful couch.

"That is certainly a change in taste," Ciel remarks carefully, hovering by the doorframe.

"Sometimes things get old," Undertaker says. He puts his feet on the coffee table and flexes his feet, dressed in rainbow-coloured socks that have separate toes. "Sometimes they need a little… _spice_."

Ciel refuses to take a seat, but he leans more comfortably against the doorframe, arms folded over his chest.

"What brings you here?" Undertaker finally asks. He brushes his fringe back and starts securing it with bobby pins. Ciel will never forget this surreal sight.

"I figured I should check out who's still alive," Ciel says easily. "I take it that this one isn't Gregory Violet?" He nods at the younger man.

"That one?" Undertaker laughs. "Nah, he isn't. Pretty sure his surname is Smith or Swan or Da Vinci."

Gregory snorts quietly.

"What about you?" Undertaker asks Ciel. "Still the same boy from before?"

"I doubt it," Ciel says. "Many things have changed."

"Don't they always?" Undertaker says. "Pray tell, what changed for you?"

Ciel tilts his head up, as if he'll find the answer in the ceiling. "The demon is dead, for one."

**OOO**

_Click-_

_By the sea. The sun is setting or rising, the boy and the silver-haired man are fully dressed. The latter is crouching in front of the water, his fingers touching the water's surface. The water must have drenched his shoes by now. The former is standing there, hands in his pockets, expression stony. The wind plays with their hair. No one else around. Their shadows stretch out on the ground behind them_.

What goes unmentioned are the words falling from the boy's lips.

"'Dead' might not be the right word," is what he says pensively. "I doubt he had a heartbeat to begin with."

"You can still kill something that isn't alive," the reaper says. "Only if it's dead already, then you can't kill it anymore." He chuckles. "Easy."

Gregory lifts his new picture over his head and squints at it with the sunlight right behind it, drawing a square-shaped shadow on his pale features.

"Interesting," Ciel says, watching Gregory take a few steps back, his head still tilted toward the picture. "Did you make that up on the spot?"

"I wonder," Undertaker returns. Whether it's what he'd call a valid answer or the beginning of a new thought remains unresolved. He blinks, lets go of whatever thought he may or may not have had, and asks, "How did you kill him?"

Ciel hold back a grimace. "With fire."

Undertaker laughs.

"Have you seen anyone else?" Ciel asks.

"The reapers are all up and well and have been leaving me alone so far," Undertaker says. "Maybe because they can't find me."

Intriguing. Ciel raises an eyebrow. "How come?"

"I'm using a charm that makes me untraceable to them," Undertaker says lightly. "It requires many gruesome acts, the blood of the undead and select demon limbs as well as an angel's lower jaw."

A long moment of silence passes by. Ciel is looking for the tremble that would indicate that this was just a really lame joke, but Undertaker is smiling serenely as if remembering good times.

"Hey," Gregory finally says, stretching. He isn't wearing shoes. "Why don't you stay at our place? We have a spare room."

"First of all, it's _my_ place," Undertaker says, amused. "Not yours. And I agree. You should come stay with us."

"I'd rather not," Ciel says with a sneer.

Two days later, he's standing in the centre of his new room. The bed is soft and the carpet is sinfully ugly, and judging by the burnt smell either Undertaker or Gregory are incapable of cooking, but it's a start and it's a nice one. Ciel decidedly doesn't smile.

**OOO**

_Click – _

_The right eye is a lie. The boy is standing in the bathroom, removing a sea blue contact lens._

**OOO**

_Click – _

_It's a nice café, tucked between a bank and boutique, both of which take up a lot of space. People tend to pass by, none the wiser about its existence. Inside, there are comfortable red seats and tables of dark wood. The boy is sitting at one of those tables, lifting a mug of coffee to his lips, his eyes straying to the side to where the windows are._

_A shadow falls through the window, touching the middle of the table. The boy is eerily calm._

Ciel is faintly startled by the sound of a picture being taken. He should be used to it by now, considering how Gregory takes pictures of him from the shadows, on the street, as Ciel falls asleep to the running TV. He watches Gregory put down his camera, not a Polaroid this time. It's one of the sort that professionals use. "Are you actually working as a photographer?" Ciel asks.

"Hm," Gregory says, sounding as if he hasn't even thought about the mere possibility yet. "Why would you assume that?"

Ciel sighs. He begins to wonder if Undertaker has raised Gregory, because there is a game the two of them love to play. Especially with Ciel being the unwilling target. The only thing he knows about Gregory is that he's been living with Undertaker "for years." How many years, why and how he came to Undertaker of all people are questions that they will never answer. Ciel doesn't ask.

"So you're actually from the nineteenth century?" Gregory asks, heaping spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his latte macchiato that has at least three different flavours added.

Ciel drinks his coffee black these days, just like he doesn't add milk to his tea anymore. "That I am."

"Undertaker filled me in on what you did back then." Gregory scrutinizes him. "But how come you are still alive, sitting here?"

_Realizing that I'd sold my life, I called off the contract. The demon insisted, friendly but firmly, that this was not possible unless one of us died. So I ripped the demon's heart out and burned it. The contract came to a halt. I doubt I ended it. Something must have gone wrong._

Ciel doesn't say any of this.

**OOO**

_Click – _

_The boy has his back turned to the camera. His shadow is long in the evening sun, bus its form is different from Ciel's._

Gregory turns his camera in his hands. Must be the light.

**OOO**

_Click – _

_The boy scrunches up his nose, lowers his eyebrows, purses his lips._

_The silver-haired man leans back in his seat, hair covering his expression, but his mouth speaks of little amusement. _

_Outside, it is dark and the shadows seem to have found their way in, tainting the air around the boy._

"I saw him die," Ciel says. "At least, I saw him turn into ashes. Do not assume that I wasn't there to witness it."

"I am not assuming anything," Undertaker concedes, "I am saying that you let him go. And maybe he didn't want to leave."

Ciel wants to hold his face in his hands for just a moment, let the anger fade just a little. Instead, he averts his glare from Undertaker and finds a new target in the photo album that Gregory is quietly creating. He seems completely unaffected by the discussion Ciel and Undertaker are having.

There are many photos with Ciel on them. He can see the first picture taken of him, and those that follow are in chronological order.

There is something very odd about them.

Ciel takes the album from Gregory, which he lets happen with a face void of expressions. Regardless of the time the pictures where shot, they gradually become darker around Ciel. He frowns softly. "Is there something wrong with your cameras?" he asks Gregory because there is no way he hasn't noticed this.

In lieu of an answer Gregory lifts his Polaroid and captures the image of Ciel frowning over the album.

Every picture after this one will remain as black as the first.

**OOO**

It happens at night, when no camera is around to capture the moment. The walls and floors of Undertaker's bookshop are thin, so he can hear the bell chime as somebody opens the door downstairs. He waits for Undertaker's bedroom door to open, but then again, Ciel assumes that Undertaker doesn't even sleep. He must be out until early morning. Nothing is coming from Gregory's room, either.

With a sigh Ciel gets up. The bookshop downstairs is dark, but Ciel spots the open door. He goes to close it.

There are red eyes glowing in the shadows eating at a form that is solid in one instance, and smoke in the next. Ciel watches, fascinated and horrified, as the shadows and smoke grow permanently solid, taking on a form that he is all too familiar with.

"If only I'd seen the last of you," Ciel says in a steady voice. His mouth is dry.

The demon straightens his coat and brushes away imaginary dirt. "I thought some distance would do us both good. You were… in a very fragile state of mind back then."

There is blood on the shirt beneath his waistcoat, black in the sparse light. Dark veins crawl up the demon's jaw. His eyes are bloodshot. He didn't even try to make himself look presentable.

"You do realize that the contract was never destroyed?" the demon asks pleasantly, stepping closer as Ciel takes one step back. It is almost like a dance, only darker and more menacing; proximity might turn out to be dangerous. Ciel remains silent. He feels that he doesn't have anything he could use against the demon.

Said creature conjures a file out of thin air. "I have kept up my end of the contract. You ordered me to leave, so I went and I found the men you didn't want to seek out anymore. I gave them the most gruesome deaths, young master, you should have seen it." He offers Ciel the file, but Ciel doesn't take it. Instead he looks at worn-out gloves.

When the boy doesn't take the file, the demon sighs and it turns into tendrils of smoke that return to his body. "I did what I was asked to do, now it is your turn, young master."

"You want my soul," Ciel says.

The demon nods. He looks gaunt and hungry. "But not now. Later."

Ciel frowns. His hands begin to shake so he hides them behind his back and sets his shoulders. "And when would that be?"

"Whenever I want it to." The demon grins. At least his teeth are even and white. "No, if it pleases you, I'd like you to come with me, young master. There is no running away from this contract." He holds out a hand, slightly bowed as if to appear humble and polite, but his gaze is piercing and unwavering.

After a long moment of contemplation, Ciel accepts.

**OOO**

_Click – _

_The boy's room, tidy and spotless. The bed is made._

_Click – _

_The bookshop. There is a strange symbol drawn on the floor. The man is leaving the frame, his lines blurry, his silver hair drenched in sunlight._

_Click – _

_The photo album. All of the boy's pictures are black._

**THE END**

* * *

Yeah, don't look at me as if I knew what that was. We've had Ciel haunting Sebastian in 'Unending', so why not let Sebastian haunt Ciel in this one (because he obviously never does anything else)? All I know is that I just love adding UT and Gregory Violet into a fic (and having UT wear silly socks). Sieglinde is also on the verge of becoming one of those. I may or may not be planning a fic in which she's around, too. I might even manage to write it.

Anyway, I'm always interested in what you think! Have a great holiday!


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